Forgot About Jae
by Darkheart One
Summary: The touching tale of a Tae Kwon-Do warrior with a winning smile, his Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend, and the wide, wacky world around them.
1. This Is *Not* An RECBT Clone. Really. I ...

  
Sometimes, one had to simply plunk down the big bucks for the big names.  
  
Yeah, sure, you could hire the Ikari Warriors, but they were old news. Pushing  
40. Ancient relics of the Star Wars era and really crappy Vietnam bloodbath  
wet-dream flicks.  
  
And you could perhaps buy the services of that Regina lady, the one that seemed  
to have a raptor or six hot on her ass every ten paces. She was good, sure, but  
not the best. That, and those raptors really made talking to her a lesson in  
limb re-attachment.  
  
Or, just if you had the cash, you might be able to pay the Shock Troopers off  
and have them kick ass and take names. If you could get past the hilarious  
names, bad engrish and their constant need to shout out the name of whatever  
they picked up (thus, ruining the element of surprise), they were alright for  
the price tag they carried.  
  
But, as mentioned before, sometimes the big guns were needed.  
  
[---]  
  
"Hi, my name's Fuuma, and I'm a ninja."  
  
The twenty-or-so beings in the room, garbed in various forms of ninja-like  
attire, waved back at their newest member, the one in the funky red headdress.  
"Hi, Fuuma!" The group hello done, Geki stood and approached Fuuma slowly,  
purposefully.  
  
"You are... a ninja."  
  
"Yes. Last of the Fuuma clan."  
  
"There *is* no Fuuma clan... poser."  
  
Fuuma immediately stood his ground, striking what could equate as a heroic  
pose, seeing that he'd managed to step on a caltrop someone dropped on the  
floor. "This is not true! The history of our clan... may have been erased..."  
  
[---]  
  
"... SIR! I've found it! I've found it!" The aide held the aged sheet of  
parchment up, admiring its handiwork. "The last document of the Forgotten Fuuma  
Clan! Sir, you must take a loo--" From behind a bush, the aide's professor  
grabbed the parchment and withdrew his hand back into the brush. "... so? What  
do you think, sir? We'll be famous!"  
  
After a few slight grunts, the professor handed the crumpled up sheet back to  
the aide. "... next time, son, buy a better grade of toilet paper. Now throw  
that away for me, hmm?"  
  
The aide just blinked a few times, then screamed to the heavens.  
  
[---]  
  
"... but I live ON!" Another pose, this one thankfully not needing his aching  
foot. Geki was, as one could expect, not amused.  
  
"Let me guess... the last document of you clan was discovered, only to be used  
as toilet paper and then burned into so much dust, forever erasing your claim  
to be a true ninja."  
  
"Yes... yes... YES! You finally understand! Now..." Fuuma put on his best grin.  
"Can I join?"  
  
[---]  
  
... when Fumma awoke, he was staring into the eyes of his boss. No wait, no one  
ever SAW his eyes, so he was really staring at his hair and the brim of his  
hat. But he was really staring at his eyes. But he wasn't. But he was. Christ,  
this is confusing. Back to Fuuma, then.  
  
"Had fun, Fumie?" Cracker Jack slapped a meaty paw on Fuuma's head and lifted  
him up without much effort. "Lesse... a few bruises... some cuts... they took  
your pants... and there seems to be lots of thumbtacks embedded in your ass."  
  
"I was wondering what that odd, prickly, yet oh-so-nice sensation was." Fuuma  
went about yanking the tacks out as only a true ninja could: weeping like a  
total sackless weenie.  
  
"Look, it's your fault for trying. This is, what, the eighth time they've  
kicked you out? And be thankful it was just thumbtacks." CJ hopped into his  
convertible and revved her up. "Remember when we had to rip off the flypaper  
from last time?"  
  
Fuuma gingerly sat down in t he backseat. "Rather intimately. I hadn't been  
shaved clean like that since my initiation into Kappa House..." He sighed,  
staring into space. "Those were the days..."  
  
"... Fuuma. I like you, so stop talking like that before I beat you like a  
dog."  
  
"... yessir."  
  
[---]  
  
"... raise you ten." Sharon took a drag from her cigar and tossed a ten into  
the pot.  
  
"I see that... and raise you ten, babes." Poison, perched atop the lap of the  
mass of human muscle and not-much-else that was Hugo, tossed out hir cash as  
well.  
  
"Pfft. You're all quite... transparent." One Daniel J. D'Arby met the bet, and  
raised it even further. "This round is mine. You might as well give up before I  
steal your lunch money." He glanced over to the last poker player. "Your call."  
  
"... I call." Onslaught slammed his money and his cards to the table. Or  
rather, through it. "BEHOLD MY MIGHTY HAND!"  
  
D'Arby's jaw dropped. "... no way."  
  
Sharon sighed and flicked her cards away. "He always wins. Fuck. Like he's  
psychic or something."  
  
"You're tellin' me. Mr. J's gonna kill us for blowing the booze money." Poison  
grimaced and dropped hir hand, while Hugo grunted unintelligibly and picked his  
nose with the severed arm of a random passer-by he'd maimed for no good reason.  
  
Onslaught mentally scooped up his winnings, all grins. "The dream is dead."  
  
[---]  
  
Forgot About Jae  
CHAPTER 0: This Is *Not* An RECBT Clone. Really. I Mean It! Stop Staring!  
  
Written, destroyed, re-written, re-destroyed, and finally channeled by Shelby  
Scott, aka Darkheart One  
Spawned by rabid tree lobsters  
  
[---]  
  
There was only one thing on his mind.  
  
Conquering EVIL.  
  
There was also another thing on his mind. Which horribly contradicted two  
sentences ago, because he was only supposed to have one thing on his mind. But  
don't think about it too hard, because if you do, I'll haunt you in your dreams  
and do things to your pets.  
  
*ahem*  
  
There was also another thing on his mind.  
  
Getting a job. Preferably a GOOD one. GOOD was GOOD, after all. Especially if  
it paid well.  
  
So he did what any young adult would do when faced with having to find a job.  
  
Which is, to sum things up, abso-fucking-lutely nothing about it.  
  
Instead, he busied himself with roaming the streets of South Town, his ever-  
present girlfriend in tow, greeting friends, helping old ladies across the  
street, beating thugs, playing the occasional bout of DDR, beating more thugs,  
pausing to eat and chat about chaste, GOOD, wholesome things with Nameless  
Everpresent Girlfriend, talk smack to his brother (the slack-ass bitch  
motherfucker) and smile.  
  
The smiling was the important part. For it was his calling card. His trademark.  
His greatest gift from his dear, departed father, may his name forever ring in  
the heavens. Of course, the car was nice, as was the autographed photo of the  
old Team Korea from the bygone days of the King of Fighters tournament. But the  
smile... it was something much more meaningful. Something he had to keep  
intact. In fact...  
  
He was *just* about to ask Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend if his smile was on  
right when a newspaper hit him in the face. The holder, a strange, small man  
with "PLOT DEVICE" written on his shirt walked on into the sunset.  
  
His is another story.  
  
Anyway, the newspaper. First of all, it really, *really* stung. "Ow! Damn,  
what's up with him?" Jae peeled the paper off of his face and was ready toss  
it, for it was opened to the classifieds, and all they had on them was openings  
for EVIL job positions. EVIL baker, EVIL beautician, EVIL day care, EVIL male  
dancer...  
  
"... you should try that one." Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend pointed at the  
male dancer one timidly. Naturally, Jae blushed fifty shades of red, and a few  
non-traditional colors as well, for he was slightly allergic to EVIL things  
that hit him in the face, like the South Town EVIL Herald.  
  
"Dear... I couldn't. Although it would make me happy to have you and a few of  
your friends watch me thrust my loins while you place bills into my G-string...  
it is EVIL. Such a thing I cannot stand, or dance, for." Jae smiled at Nameless  
Girlfriend, blinding her slightly. "Do forgive me."  
  
"Of... of course, honey. Just... close your mouth, please." She smiled  
sheepishly, and Jae did just that, a bit too late to prevent a driver,  
thoroughly blinded from the glare of his perfect teeth, from plowing into the  
sidewalk and mercilessly running down Benimaru Nikaido.  
  
The people on the sidewalk cheered, and the driver was declared a national  
hero.  
  
His, too, is another story.  
  
Anyway, Jae's teeth were bright. So he closed his mouth. This pleased his  
Nameless Girlfriend, and he was about to toss the paper... when he saw  
something that made him smile.  
  
"WANTED: One GOOD worker with GOOD people skills and GOOD disposition; must be  
willing to travel. GOOD experience a must. All applicants inquire at Violence  
Ltd. in person."  
  
Jae smiled. A happy, broad, victorious smile. "Finally... this is it!" He  
snagged his girlfriend's wrist and dragged her along. "Come with me... we don't  
have a moment to waste!" Without much protest, she followed. As they vanished  
around a corner, the guy who ran over Benimaru accidentally backed over his  
corpse.  
  
A documentary was commissioned in his honor.  
  
Again... his is another story.  
  
Anyway, [---].  
  
"Thank you for calling Violence Limited. You point, we mangle beyond  
recognition." Poison was filing hir nails. The customer was raving on about  
zombies eating his guests and needing assistance. "I see... well... have you  
called S.T.A.R.S. yet? We normally don't do the undead." The guy on the line  
answered with a loud scream, then a wet gurgle. The line then hung up.  
  
"... what a rude little bitch. Hmph." Shi hung the phone up... then looked up.  
  
There was a young Korean man wearing a white and green outfit, with an  
apparently Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend right behind him, staring a hole  
into Poison like shi was going to try and make a move on him.  
  
Fuck, she's a smart one, Poison thought. I'll kill her first.  
  
"I'm here for the GOOD job." The man smiled. Poison suddenly felt the urge to  
look away and hiss. Which shi did. Quite loudly.  
  
"Bright... light... close your... mouth!" Jae did so, and Poison peeked through  
hir fingers before resuming hir normal look of don't-give-a-shitness. "...  
okay. Lemme call Mr. J." Shi dialed a few numbers, taking a moment to glare at  
the man so he wouldn't smile.  
  
"... Sharon, put. The gun. Down. Yeah, Poison?"  
  
"We got an applicant for the gofer job." Shi glanced up at Jae, then snorted.  
  
"Is he moderately handsome?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Bright smile?"  
  
"Too bright. Shit, you should see it."  
  
"Ah. Nameless Girlfriend?"  
  
"I hate her already."  
  
"Ask him The Question."  
  
Poison removed the phone from hir ear and glanced at Jae. "Are you on the quest  
to avenge the untimely death of your father, who was mercilessly slain in the  
pursuit of justice, fair play and the furtherment of Tae Kwon Do?"  
  
Jae stiffened slightly, and not because Nameless Girlfriend had her hand down  
the back of his pants. Wait, she did, but that wasn't what caused him to  
stiffen. No siree. Not at all. No way.  
  
Okay, maybe a little, but the question helped.  
  
"Why yes. Yes I am."  
  
Poison put the phone back to hir ear. "He's got an underlying goal."  
  
CJ frowned over the phone. How that was possible could not be properly  
explained by mere text, so you'll just have to believe it and shut your damn  
mouth. "If we hire him, we'll probably be stuck on some ongoing adventure full  
of wacky hijinks, blatant rip-offs of other series, and the repeated, brutal  
and morbidly hilarious slayings of various fighting game characters."  
  
"So?"  
  
CJ paused. "Bleah. Hire him anyw--Sharon! That gun doesn't go there! Christ..."  
Jack hung up, and Poison casually dropped the phone onto the receiver.  
  
"You're hired, bigshot." Shi groaned and reached for hir bottle of brandy. How  
shi hated guys with Nameless Girlfriends. Ruined all hir fun.  
  
Jae smiled.  
  
Nameless Girlfriend groped.  
  
Jae smiled even more.  
  
Poison winced. "Fuck! Shut your mouth!"  
  
  



	2. Eating On The Run [guest chapter by W4]

  
  
"Daaaaamn, dude! I am so fucking stoned right now!"  
  
Pac-Man wobbled down the narrow alleyway, bouncing off the walls like a slow,  
bumpy pinball. "That was some DAMN fine weed! But now I've got some major  
munchies. DAMN, MAN!"  
  
Pac-Man tried to see what was happening on the street in front of him. He  
squinted and viewed what appeared to be a humanoid frog dressed in pimp  
clothes and a beagle in street clothes.  
  
"Now that's some fucked-up shit, dude," Pac-Man sighed.  
  
The pimp-looking frog and the street dog began to rap.  
  
Pac-Man perked up considerably, but not because of the rap. He noticed  
something that appeared right above them.  
  
It was a line of dots with occasional red, blue, pink and green symbols.  
  
Pac-Man began to drool as he gave a glazed smile.  
  
"DOTS!" he yelled as he dashed at the line and started chomping at it.  
  
"DUDE!" Parappa shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"Yeah, mon. Take your big mouth and get on outta here, you lousy toker!"  
Prince Fleaswallow added.  
  
Pac-Man glared angrily at the two while continuing to chomp. "Piss off!" he  
barked. "Can't you see I'm eating here?"  
  
Parappa chided, "You're eatin' our rhythm bar, bitch! Step down before I pop a  
cap in yo' ass!"  
  
Pac-Man turned to Parappa and found himself face-to-face with a widowmaker.  
  
"Holy shit," he mumbled.  
  
"STOP!" a female voice shouted.  
  
All three turned to face Mai Shiranui. While she gave a speech about justice,  
fairness, Andy's firm ass, the way of the warrior, Andy's firm ass, fighting  
tournaments, Andy's firm ass and, last but not least, Andy's firm ass, Parappa  
and Prince Fleaswallow smiled lewdly and drooled.  
  
Pac-Man also smiled and drooled at the bouncy ninja. But his was for another  
reason.  
  
"BOUNCING CHERRY!" he shouted as he darted towards Mai.  
  
Surprised, Mai shouted, "What the... HEY! STOP BITING ME! OW! KNOCK IT OFF!  
ANDY WILL GET YOU FOR THIS! HEEEELP!"  
  
[---]  
  
CJ picked up the phone.  
  
"Yeah?" he grunted. "Yeah? Yeah? No, really? Holy shit. ...okay. I'm on it."  
  
CJ dropped the phone on the receiver and hit the button on his intercom.  
"Poison, send the new kid in."  
  
[---]  
  
Forgot About Jae  
CHAPTER 1: Eating on The Run  
  
Story begun by Shelby Scott, aka Darkheart One  
This conglomeration of gags, jokes and blasphemies be Scott Watson aka W4  
  
[---]  
  
On the 0th episode of "Forgot About Jae,"... dude, look. It's 11K. It's funny  
as hell. Go read it yourself. If you're too lazy or humorless to do that, then  
God have mercy on your soul for you'll get none from me.  
  
[---]  
  
Jae and his Nameless Everpresent Girlfriend (whom I shall refer to as NEG.  
Why? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T STOP ME! THAT'S WHY!) walked into CJ's office. Jae  
smiled a smile of confidence. He smiled a smile of eagerness. He smiled the  
smile of a man whose NEG was brazenly and openly fondling him.  
  
CJ grimaced at Jae. "So this upstart thinks he can one-up me, huh?" he thought  
to himself. "Well, TWO can play at this game!" He gruffly yelled, "Sharon! I  
order you to grope me!"  
  
Sharon paled considerably. "...what?" she squeaked.  
  
"You heard me! Get your gun-toting gams over here and make with the touchy-  
feely!" he hollered.  
  
Sharon walked like a condemned inmate to CJ and attempted to emulate NEG's  
actions with her head turned the other way.  
  
"You got balls, kid," CJ said to Jae. "But you'll need more than that if you  
want in on the dental plan."  
  
Jae nodded.  
  
NEG pinched.  
  
Jae squeaked.  
  
CJ continued, "So here's the scoop. One of our regular customers has got into  
a jam. Again. The dumb bastard got lit on fire, shot point-blank and whipped  
around like a tetherball. So he calls us up from prison, and he wants us to do  
his job. So I want YOU to do the job."  
  
CJ sat back.  
  
Sharon squeezed.  
  
CJ giggled.  
  
Jae smiled brightly, causing CJ to squint and readjust his sunglasses. "I'm  
ready to go to work. Please tell me more about this job, Mr. Nameless Shady  
Evil Gangster Guy."  
  
CJ grunted.  
  
Jae smiled innocently.  
  
NEG rubbed.  
  
So did Sharon.  
  
Jae got wide-eyed.  
  
So did CJ.  
  
"The name's CJ," CJ said, clearing his voice. "And here's the job. Mocan  
Corners has been overrun by dots, power pellets and bouncing fruit. Your job  
is to get down there and clean up that mess."  
  
"So I'll be throwing them in the garbage?" Jae asked.  
  
CJ grinned cruelly. "No, son. You'll be EATING them."  
  
CJ laughed.  
  
Sharon scratched.  
  
CJ howled.  
  
Jae paused. "Eat... I see... so be it. I could use a meal anyway," he mused  
aloud. "We'll head to Mocan Corners at once.  
  
CJ smiled at Jae.  
  
Jae smiled at CJ.  
  
NEG goosed Jae.  
  
Jae yelped.  
  
Jae and NEG bowed and left, Jae trying discreetly to unearth NEG's roaming  
hand.  
  
"Can I stop now?" Sharon asked in a pleading voice.  
  
CJ shook his head. "You're still on the clock for two more hours," he stated.  
  
Sharon cried.  
  
[---]  
  
Dr. Robotnik asked his patient, "How long have you had these symptoms?"  
  
"ABOUT A WEEK," Onslaught whimpered in a loud, booming voice.  
  
Dr. Robotnik glanced at Onslaught, who looked visibly tired and drained. "It  
might be a common cold, but it sounds like a respiratory problem. I'm going to  
have to look at your nasal passages. Please clean out your nose so I can  
investigate."  
  
Onslaught nodded. With his mighty right arm, he pulled from his pockets a  
piece of white cloth that was big enough to cover a suburban house. He put it  
to his nose.  
  
Dr. Robotnik, realizing the danger he was in, futilely looked for cover.  
  
Onslaught blew with enough force to send Dr. Robotnik and everything else that  
wasn't bolted down flying for several city blocks.  
  
"BEHOLD," Onslaught announced after blowing his nose, "MY MIGHTY HANDKERCHIEF.  
...DOC? DOC? WHERE'D YOU GO?"  
  
[---]  
  
In a shadowy part of Mocan Corners, four ghosts (a red one, a cyan one, a pink  
one and an orange one) plotted.  
  
"So they're sending in a new guy, huh?" Blinky, the red ghost, grumbled.  
  
Pinky, the pink ghost, nodded and remarked, "Yeah! Another one of CJ's guys!  
They're fun to pulverize!"  
  
Inky, the cyan ghost, shuddered. "What if he's really tough?" he asked  
nervously.  
  
"Whoop-de-fucking-do," Clyde, the orange ghost, sighed.  
  
Blinky drew his three partners close. "Okay. Here's the plan. When the new guy  
shows up, I'll follow him and try to run him down. Pinky, you try to cut him  
off at the pass."  
  
"Okay, boss!" Pinky enthusiastically replied.  
  
"Inky, I want you to act afraid of him and run away if he sees you unless the  
others are nearby."  
  
Inky mumbled while fidgeting with his arms, "I... is it okay if I ambush him  
in the warp tunnels... if that's okay with you, sir?"  
  
Blinky sighed. "Fine, fine. If you want to try and ambush him in the warp  
tunnels, knock yourself out. Clyde! I want you to wander around aimlessly! Got  
it?"  
  
Clyde crossed his arms and turned away. "Your plan sucks donkey nuts," he said  
with contempt. "Besides, I should be the boss."  
  
Blinky floated angrily towards Clyde. Pinky and Inky floated back in fear.  
"What. The. HELL. Did. You. Just. Say?" Blinky asked with clinched teeth.  
  
Clyde floated forward and was face-to-face with Blinky. "I said that I should  
be the boss."  
  
Blinky backed up a bit. "You. Should be the boss," he repeated.  
  
Clyde nodded.  
  
Blinky turned around, slowly floating away. "Hmm. You may be on to something,  
Clyde. But there's just one... little... thing... you're forgetting."  
  
In less time than it took to blink, Blinky dashed at Clyde and began to pummel  
him. Within seconds, Clyde, black-eyed and sore, cried for mercy, his back  
pinned to the sidewalk by Blinky.  
  
Blinky shouted as he beat Clyde, "THIS AIN'T NO GODDAMN HANNA-BARBERA CARTOON,  
AND THAT POINTY-HEADED DILDO WANNABE, MESMERON, ISN'T GOING TO BAIL YOUR FAT  
SPECTRAL ASS OUT OF THE FRYING PAN, YOU STUPID BITCH! AND DON'T EVEN THINK  
ABOUT PULLING THAT 'PAC-MANIA' SHIT ON ME! YOUR TIME IN THE SUN IS OVER! I'M  
THE BOSS! I'M ALWAYS THE BOSS! AND YOU'RE MY BITCH!"  
  
Blinky floated back to watch Clyde groggily float upright.  
  
"So," Blinky asked, arms folded. "Who are you?"  
  
Clyde sighed, "I am Blinky's bitch."  
  
"Damn straight. And what are you going to do when the new guy shows up?"  
  
Clyde sighed, "I'm going to wander aimlessly."  
  
"DAMN straight," Blinky said with a sadistic smile.  
  
Inky hollered, "Boss! He's coming!"  
  
"Okay! Places, people! WE EAT TONIGHT!"  
  
[---]  
  
Meanwhile, on Asteroid M, four Acolytes stood guard over their sleeping  
master, Magneto.  
  
"How long has he been like this?" the first Acolyte asked.  
  
The second Acolyte sighed, "It's been a week now."  
  
"It was so tragic," the third Acolyte sobbed. "He was ambushed by Ken, Cable  
and Strider Hiryu."  
  
The fourth Acolyte balled his fist up and faced skyward. "Damn the Scrub  
Corps!" he yelled.  
  
Magneto opened one eye.  
  
The Acolytes turned to him.  
  
Magneto opened the other eye.  
  
The Acolytes gasped in joy.  
  
Magneto sat up.  
  
"Master!" the Acolytes shouted.  
  
Magneto pushed them aside with his magnetic powers and walked to a nearby  
chamber.  
  
"It is a miracle!" the first Acolyte shouted. "Magneto is alive and well, and  
he heads straight to the war room to make plans to destroy his hated-"  
  
The sound of liquid splashing against liquid echoed throughout the room.  
  
Large beads of sweat appeared on the backs of the Acolytes' heads. They looked  
each other and stood still for several minutes while the splashing sound  
continued.  
  
When the sound stopped, it was followed by an unmistakable flushing sound.  
Magneto then strolled back into the room, laid down on the bed and went back  
to sleep.  
  
"Our lord and master," the first Acolyte whispered.  
  
The second Acolyte added, "He didn't wash his hands."  
  
[---]  
  
Jae and NEG, who were now holding hands, were stunned with shock when they  
walked into Mocan Corner. Hundreds of dots, some as bright as Jae's smile,  
floated before them in a complex pattern of lines. They could also spot the  
occasional bouncing strawberry and pretzel.  
  
"We're supposed to eat all of this?" NEG gasped, clinging to Jae.  
  
Jae laughed heartily. "I know it looks like a lot now, but don't fret. I don't  
think those small dots will be filling."  
  
NEG didn't look convinced.  
  
"Think of them as floating M&Ms," Jae suggested.  
  
NEG nodded, smiled at Jae and goosed him.  
  
Jae let out a slightly audible "Meep."  
  
NEG grabbed two dots, handing one to Jae. They looked at the dots, then at  
each other, then at the dots again. They shrugged and popped the dots in their  
mouth. After chewing for ten seconds, they swallowed.  
  
"How was yours?" Jae asked.  
  
NEG looked confused as she answered, "It didn't taste."  
  
"It didn't taste what?" Jae asked. "It didn't taste good?"  
  
NEG shook her head. "It didn't taste period," she explained. "I popped it in  
my mouth. I knew it was there. And I felt myself swallow it. But there was  
absolutely no flavor."  
  
"Huh," Jae remarked, grinning goofily. "Mine tasted like pineapple."  
  
NEG giggled and glomped Jae. "Oh, Jae. To you, EVERYTHING tastes like  
pineapple."  
  
Jae shrugged and laughed. "I guess it does. Most people think everything  
tastes like chicken, but I taste pineapple. I wonder why that is..."  
  
[---]  
  
It is little-known knowledge that humans actually have FIVE taste buds. In  
addition to "sweet," "sour," "salty," and "bitter," there is the mysterious  
fifth taste bud, "chicken." This is the bud responsible whenever someone says,  
"This tastes just like chicken!"  
  
You learn something new every day, don'tcha?  
  
(FIFTEEN YEARS AGO)  
  
As a young Kim Jae Hoon slept peacefully, a short, pudgy, wart-covered man  
with fairy wings plopped into his bedroom.  
  
"Ow!" the Taste Bud Fairy muttered, rubbing his keister. "Them landings keep  
gettin' rougher and rougher!"  
  
Grumbling, the Taste Bud Fairy pulled out a list and read it. "Okay... now  
where is 'Kim Jay Poon' on this thing... nope. Nope. Nope. AH! Here it is! It  
sez, 'Replace 'chicken' with 'pineapple.'"  
  
The Taste Bud Fairy squinted at the scroll. He looked at the kid. He resumed  
squinting at the scroll.  
  
With a sigh, he remarked, "I don't have to understands it. I just has to do  
it..."  
  
[---]  
  
"...oh, well. Shall we feast on the dots?" Jae asked?  
  
NEG nodded. They proceeded to grab dots by the handful and eat them.  
  
"This is actually pretty fun!" Jae announced with a smile.  
  
"Dear, you've got some dot stuck between your teeth," NEG warned him.  
  
Jae flicked out the residual dot. "Thanks, hon."  
  
"OW! Hey! This dot's been chewed on! Gross!" a third voice cried out.  
  
Jae and NEG turned towards the voice and saw Inky.  
  
Inky looked at Jae and NEG. He shook in fear. "...mommy," he squeaked. He then  
turned and ran.  
  
"Wait! Come back, Mr. Ghost!" Jae called out. "I'm sorry about launching  
chewed dot at you! C'mon, dear, let's follow him!"  
  
Jae and NEG chased Inky around, grabbing the occasional handful of dots and  
eating them.  
  
After his seventh handful, Jae felt a tap on his shoulder.  
  
He turned to see who it was.  
  
It was Blinky's fist.  
  
*WHAM*  
  
Jae fell to the ground like a sack of wet mice.  
  
"YEAH, BITCH!" Blinky shouted triumphantly. "You think you're so great because  
you have multiple pixels and polygons! Well, I WAS BREAKING HEADS WHILE YOU  
WERE STILL SUCKING ON YOUR MOM'S TIT, YOU SNOT-NOSED PUNK!"  
  
Pinky rounded a corner, saw the fallen Jae and leapt on top of him. "I got  
him, boss! I got him!" he yelled.  
  
Blinky rolled his eyes. "Pinky... you dumbass," he sighed.  
  
"What? I got the wrong guy?" Pinky innocently asked.  
  
NEG inched away from Blinky and Pinky.  
  
"Not so fast, toots!" Inky yelled as he yanked her hair.  
  
"OW! HEY! LEGGO!" she shouted.  
  
Blinky laughed, "Nothin' doin'! If we let you go, you'd go straight for a  
power pellet, and we wouldn't want-"  
  
"Oh!" NEG interrupted, her face lighting up. "You mean one of these?"  
  
NEG pulled a baseball-sized yellow orb out of her blouse and displayed it. It  
shined brightly and throbbed with energy.  
  
Inky let go of NEG's hair and hid behind the retreating Blinky and Inky. "Now  
hey now," Blinky stuttered. "We didn't mean you and your guy no harm."  
  
"It was all fun and games! Really!" Pinky whined.  
  
Inky said in a pleading voice, "Just put. The pellet. Down."  
  
NEG smirked mischievously and gulped it down.  
  
The three ghosts turned dark blue, and the look of one who is about to die was  
plainly visible on their faces.  
  
"LET'S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" the three ghosts shouted in unison. They  
then ran off in three separate directions. For ten seconds, NEG tried her best  
to catch up to them (eating dots, two oranges and a bunch of bananas during  
the chase), but they were too slippery for her to catch. As the chase wore  
down, she noticed that the ghosts began to shift between dark blue and white  
in color.  
  
Just as she was about to catch Blinky, the ghosts reverted back to their  
natural colors.  
  
NEG gulped nervously. "You wouldn't hit a girl. Would you?" she innocently  
asked.  
  
Blinky shook his head. "No. I wouldn't hit a girl," he calmly stated.  
  
NEG sighed with relief.  
  
Then she got slapped by the back of Blinky's hand, causing her to fall to her  
knees.  
  
"But I'll gladly bitchslap a bitch, YOU BITCH!" Blinky cursed. "PINKY! INKY!  
CLYDE!"  
  
Pinky and Inky rushed to Blinky's side. "Yes, boss!" they chanted.  
  
Clyde, making a mad dash away from Mocan Corners, gave Blinky the finger.  
"Fuck you, man! I'm wandering aimlessly just like you said, asshole!" he  
shouted as he left.  
  
"That... orange... PRICK!" Blinky hollered, trembling with rage. "When I get  
through with him, there won't even be a pair of eyes left! YOU HEAR ME, CLYDE?  
YOU'RE A DEAD GHOST MONSTER! YOU'RE DEAD!"  
  
Blinky then glared at NEG.  
  
"But first," Blinky chuckled as he, Pinky and Inky advanced towards her.  
"We'll finish off this little harlot. Say goodbye, you miserable-"  
  
They were blinded by a shining light.  
  
"It's the cops!" Blinky shouted.  
  
"Worse!" Pinky wailed. "It's the guy you cold-cocked!"  
  
Jae stood and glared at them, giving off the blinding, open-mouthed sneer that  
could only mean one thing.  
  
"EVIL," Jae bellowed. "WILL *NOT* BE TOLERATED! ESPECIALLY WHEN THAT EVIL  
THREATENS ONE I LOVE!"  
  
Inky began to openly sob. "I'm scared, Blinky. Hold me," he whined.  
  
Jae held a power pellet in each hand, quickly downing both of them. Before the  
ghosts could turn and flee, Jae dashed by, safely scooping up NEG and  
delivering several painful kicks to the ghosts. He gently placed NEG down in a  
side alley and resumed beating up the three ghosts all over Mocan Corners. By  
the time he finished, the only things left in Mocan Corners were Jae and three  
floating pairs of eyes that haphazardly floated away.  
  
Jae walked towards NEG, his demeanor slowly changing from hellbent to  
cheerful. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern.  
  
NEG nodded. "My left cheek is feeling a bit swollen."  
  
Jae laughed. "My right eye and your left cheek are a perfect match, then."  
  
They hugged and lightly kissed each other's injuries.  
  
"This would be rotting my teeth out if I currently had any!" a retreating  
Blinky thought to himself.  
  
"Well, it looks like we're done here. I don't see any more dots," Jae bragged.  
  
NEG smiled mischievously. "Actually, there's one dot left."  
  
"Really? Where? I don't see it," Jae commented with confusion.  
  
NEG whispered in Jae's ear, "That's because I hid it somewhere on my body."  
  
Jae's blush covered his whole body.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for? The sooner you find that dot, the sooner we  
can get paid!" NEG teased with a laugh.  
  
"Yes, ma'am!"  
  
[---]  
  
On the other side of town, Clyde found himself in another alleyway.  
  
"I better lay low in case the other three finish those two off and decide to  
come after me," he thought out loud.  
  
Clyde heard a grunt behind him.  
  
Clyde turned around.  
  
"Oh, no," he gulped as he saw the figure. "Blood-red hair tied in a knot.  
Torn, dark-grey gi! Eyes marked with the blood of his victims!"  
  
Akuma took one step forward. The ground shook.  
  
Clyde floated down to the ground and cried. "Please, Mr. Akuma! Please don't  
hurt me! I'll do anything! ANYTHING!" he pleaded.  
  
"..." Akuma replied. "Prepare for my ultimate attack."  
  
"NO! NOT THE INSTANT HELL MURDER! ANYTHING BUT THE INSTANT HELL MURDER!" Clyde  
wailed. He gulped and waited for the moment when Akuma's hands would grab him  
and take him to the gates of hell.  
  
That moment never came.  
  
Clyde looked at Akuma, who was now dressed in a white sports jacket, black t-  
shirt, white dress slacks, white shoes and a white hat with a black band.  
  
Clyde blinked in confusion.  
  
"I'm Bad," began to play, and Akuma danced to it. He even moonwalked.  
  
Clyde, both relieved and confused, joined in the dance. Within seconds, both  
Akuma and Clyde were dancing furiously.  
  
Just as Clyde had worked up the courage to try moonwalking himself (quite a  
feat considering that Clyde had no feet), the music stopped.  
  
Akuma slammed his fist into the ground.  
  
A geyser of raw energy exploded beneath Clyde, completely disintegrating him.  
He didn't even have enough time to shout in pain.  
  
Akuma turned his back to the geyser as it subsided. Kanji appeared on the back  
of his sports jacket.  
  
It read, "Akumichael Jackson."  
  



	3. Hair, Sharp Objects and Body Oil

  
  
South Town.  
  
A normal town, all things considered. The fact that it had somehow become the  
nexus for countless other realities was just a side-benefit. Otherwise, ignoring  
the occasional stampede of Chu-Chus, the offhand final boss rampage and the  
ever-so-annoying Full Motion Video event, South Town was just another town.  
  
Naturally, like any other average town, had its share of crime. Odd,  
extravagant, mohawk-sporting crime, but crime nonetheless.  
  
[---]  
  
"Ahhh!" The clerk bolted out of the corner convenience store, scrambling away  
like her very life depended on it. Which it was, considering that the store's  
ATM machine flew through the shop's plate-glass window and landed inches from  
where she lay. "Dear sweet God, help me!" She bolted down the street, not paying  
attention to where she was going until...  
  
"Wai-HA!"  
  
... a china flat-clad foot jammed itself into her chest and sent her flipping to  
the ground. The owner of the foot paused, then looked down at the unconscious  
woman before turning to his brother. "Yang, dear brother, were there any demure,  
panicked shopowners amidst that gang of miscreants we dispatched?"  
  
Yang looked down, toed at the lady's shoulder, then sighed, brushing his hair  
aside. "Nay, dear brother Yun. I do believe we've made a terrible mistake. Let  
us revive her back at our abode, and inquire as to why she was fleeing in such a  
manner."  
  
"Indeed, sweet brother. And we must hurry. I believe we have been spotted." Yun  
pointed to the approaching army of girls storming towards them, screaming  
various intonations of "TROWA!", "DUO!" and "WAAAAAAAAAAI!".  
  
"Understood." Yang sighed heavily, then broke into a mad dash alongside his dear  
brother. "And remind me to find out whoever these 'Duo' and 'Trowa' people are  
so that we may thrash them soundly."  
  
"Verily."  
  
[---]  
  
"Alright, girls, the God of Death is *here*!"  
  
It took one Duo Maxwell all of five seconds to realize that the room was empty,  
and another five for him to actually accept that fact. That done, the young man  
let out the most angry stream of curses he could muster, causing the spiky-  
haired depressive behind him to blink once or twice.  
  
"...fuckingshitdamnasscocklickingbitches!" He capped off his tirade by slamming  
his fist down on a table. "And after all the trouble I went through to actually  
*wear* a G-String!"  
  
"... they are uncomfortable," Trowa noted quietly, idly picking at his from  
under his pants. "Why did we have to wear these anyway?"  
  
"Because those girls want hot Gundam pilot action, and it's our job to please!"  
Duo finally slumped down into a chair, head in his hands. "All those weeks of  
practicing that dance number..."  
  
"... I'm due for a night out with Quatre in a few. I have to leave."  
  
"... and I had that stripper pole built just for today..."  
  
"... Duo."  
  
"... what am I gonna do with all that body oil?"  
  
"... Duo." Trowa tapped the self-proclaimed God of Death (and Whining, it seems)  
on the shoulder, causing his head to snap up violently.  
  
"What?!"  
  
Trowa paused. "Can I borrow the body oil?"  
  
Duo *almost* said something, then just shook his head and waved Trowa along.  
"... what the hell. You two have fun."  
  
Trowa non-smiled. "... wai."  
  
[---]  
  
Forgot About Jae  
CHAPTER 2: Hair, Sharp Objects and Body Oil  
  
Originally yanked from a Lovecraftian Abyss by Shelby Scott, aka Darkheart One  
Much love goes out to your mom. She's *hot*.  
  
[---]  
  
Previously, in the 1st episode of "Forgot About Jae", guest author W4 managed to  
mangle the time-honored memories I have for Pac-Man, make me doubt his sanity...  
and brought forth someone who I'm sure will become a regular character... the  
moonwalking, smooth-dancing, asskicking Akumichael Jackson. It also gave me  
ideas... but right now, I'll just leave you in suspense. Mwah. Mwah hah hah.  
Ahem.  
  
[---]  
  
After a rather uneasy and forced nap, she snapped awake, screaming as loud as  
she could, right into the ear of the young man in the ballcap who was tending to  
her injuries. After noticing that, she screamed again when she noticed that she  
was near-topless as he applied some overly-warm substance to her bruised chest.  
Once done, the young man popped his palm to his eardrum, then swallowed loudly.  
  
"Is she awake, dear brother?" The non-hatted youth took a seat nearby, a cup of  
coffee in his hands. "You did kick her rather smartly."  
  
"She is... awake, yes. Give me a few moments, my right eardrum seems to have  
popped." He swallowed again, to no effect.  
  
All the while, the lady was spazzing out. "W-who are you?! Where am I? What...  
what is this stuff on my chest?!" She quickly closed her cheongsam and gave the  
twins very dirty looks. They themselves seemed totally unaffected by her  
distress. "W-well?"  
  
"You are in our abode, dear madam." Yun bowed his head slightly, as did Yang. "I  
accidentally dispatched you when you were running our way earlier today."  
  
"And, concerning who we are..." The two suddenly stood, and began... to pose. "I  
am Yang, the Blazing Heart of Youthful Wisdom!"  
  
"And I am Yun, the Swift Soul of Youthful Courage!" Yun and Yang suddenly went  
into an impressing, yet oddly disturbing kata, finishing with the two high-  
kicking and bracing each other with their upheld foot while posing. Somehow,  
sakura petals began to waft by, and the surrounding area darkened slightly.  
  
"Together... we are! The Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice!" After that...  
silence.  
  
A few seconds passed before she could form a cohesive thought. "... and this  
stuff on my chest? Some ancient Chinese secret or something like that?"  
  
Yun smiled, still stuck in the final pose. "Vapo-Rub"  
  
"... oh."  
  
[---]  
  
"Dear brother, I have a good feeling!"  
  
"Indeed! This is the way!"  
  
The Wushu Passion/Justice Brothers sped towards the trashed store, making good  
progress. As they drew close, they thought back to the words the shopkeeper gave  
them...  
  
("Are you two in some forbidden relationship or something?")  
  
... and collectively scratched their heads. It was beyond them why everyone  
always asked them that. Their actions were purely a part of their inner Passion  
for Justice. How such actions could be interpreted otherwise...  
  
"... well, I'm stuffed. Let's bail." A voice from the shop caused the two to  
halt. Looking between each other, then immediately climbed up the fire escape on  
the side of the building, waiting...  
  
"Heh... that gal ran like th' Devil 'imself was on 'er tail!" Said comment was  
followed by rabid, and very audible slobbering.  
  
"Hehheh! Mebbe it was me happ'nin' dance moves!" The third voice broke into a  
weird laugh, accompanied by... chirping?  
  
"Mmmmooognahdenutterbunnybunnymnghfoomfoom... yah." ... um. Well.  
  
Anyway...  
  
The four bodies connected to the voices strolled out, all of them sporting  
wicked-looking mohawks and evil grins. That was all the Twins needed to see.  
With a mighty shout, they leapt from their vantage point, landed in front of the  
four... and posed.  
  
"I am Yang, the Blazing Heart of Youthful Wisdom!"  
  
"And I am Yun, the Swift Soul of Youthful Courage!"  
  
"Together... we are! The Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice!" More cherry-  
blossom petals fluttered about, and the lights came back on after a few moments.  
The mohawked men could only stare as the Twins held their pose, their best Angry  
Grimaces of Justice on.  
  
Finally, the lead man stepped forward, reached into his back pocket... and  
produced a massive, blood-stained chainsaw. "Oi, fellas! Who 'ere's up for a  
little circumcisin' fun?"  
  
"Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!" The slobbering one dug a pair of Krueger claws out of his vest  
and slipped them on. The large, dumb-looking one produced a chain with a nasty  
hook on the end. The one dressed like a cross between a b-boy and a punk rocker  
wielded... a chick, complete with matching yellow-and-blue mohawk.  
  
The Twins' eyes went wide, and they looked at each other.  
  
"Dear brother... aren't we already circumcised?"  
  
"... I don't really think they care, dear brother."  
  
"Oh, bother."  
  
[---]  
  
"Poison, what's a seven-letter word that means 'aversion'?"  
  
Poison, busy eating lunch, didn't even bother to look up at Fuuma. "Go fuck  
yourself."  
  
"... that's fourteen letters."  
  
"Fuck off, then."  
  
Fuuma's eyes widened, and he smiled happily. "Thanks!"  
  
Poison hirself was about to tell Fuuma just how fucking dumb he was when the  
phone rang. Saved by the Bell (South Town), shi answered the call. "Thank you  
for calling Violence Limited. You point, we mangle beyond recognition." She  
cocked hir head to the side. "Yeah... ouch. Fuck, I bet that hurt... Keep  
going." Poison began to take notes swiftly. "Uh-huh... yeah... hot damn, them?  
Okay, we're all over that. Yes the usual payment'll be fine. Later." Shi hung  
the phone up and leaned back in hir chair, hitting the intercom with hir foot.  
  
"Yeah, Poison?" CJ was on the other end, naturally.  
  
"Just got a call from the city PD. Looks like the Hair Scare Gang's back in  
action."  
  
CJ's voice took on an odd tone, then he gasped slightly. "Right, right--easy,  
Sharon--so, what happened this time?"  
  
Fuuma took that time to sit on Poison's desk and listen in, still working on his  
crossword puzzle. "Looks like our old gofers ran into 'em and got their little  
peepees shaved. They're in the ICU. That, and they've robbed a few places today.  
Cops want us to stop 'em."  
  
CJ 'hrm'ed for a moment. "Right... Fuuma!" The ninja jumped, slightly startled.  
"I want you to get Hugo and come to my office. We're gonna go mohawk-hunting."  
  
"Yessir... and... sir? How did you know I was here?"  
  
"You're the only ninja I know that hums girly bubblegum-pop songs out loud," CJ  
replied rather honestly.  
  
"And it's really fucking annoying," Poison interjected. "Now get off my damn  
desk, you're infecting it with dumbass germs."  
  
Fuuma did so, backing up like a wounded dog. "R-right... and boss?"  
  
A slight 'meep', followed by an annoyed "Yes?" from CJ.  
  
"What are you doing right now?"  
  
"Getting my grope on with Sharon." One could swear that they could hear Sharon  
whimper "Sweet baby Jesus, kill me now." over the intercom.  
  
"... how come Sharon never gropes me?!"  
  
"Because--whoo!--I'm the boss, Fuuma. Now go, or you'll be riding pine... the  
hard way."  
  
"Sir!" He turned... then turned again. "One more thing."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
Fuuma looked over his crossword. "What's a seven-letter word that means  
'detested'?"  
  
"Fuck off, already!"  
  
"... thanks!" With that, the ninja promptly ninja-vanished... and ninja-  
reappeared beside the door, opening it and running out. Poison just groaned  
loudly as shi sprayed the spot where Fuuma was sitting with disinfectant spray.  
  
"I don't know why I hired him... I really---eeee--really don't."  
  
"The Stupid Employee Act of 1974."  
  
".... oh, *THAT*. Stupid law---yeah, right there." With that, the intercom shut  
down. Poison wiped down the desk a few more times, then pulled out her April  
issue of PlayShoto and went back to the centerfold.  
  
"You must swallow Sheng Long to stand a chance, indeed."  
  
[---]  
  
"And we are live in five... four... three..." The producer finger-counted the  
rest... and then, light-and-happy music cued up, the lights turning on in the  
studio. The APPLAUSE light blinked spastically, and the crowd went nuts. Soon  
enough, an ashen-skinned man with Don King-esque green hair and a weird cyber-  
bit over his right eye walked onto the kitchen set, dressed in a cook's smock  
with his sleeves rolled up.  
  
After taking his place, he waved to the crowd. "How are you, gentlemen... and  
gentlewomen?" The crowd roared with applause, not seeming to mind that a man-  
thing with a Speak-And-Spell voice was greeting them. "Good, good. Today, we're  
going to work on one of my favorite recipes... Snow Crab Gumbo." He produces a  
massive set of snow crab legs to demonstrate. "And when I'm done, a lucky few of  
you will get a taste." He grinned. "... all your tastebuds are belong to me. You  
are on the way to culinary ecstasy."  
  
The crowd reacted with a near-automatic "What you say!!" then broke into  
applause as Cats bowed deeply.  
  
"I'm saying that it's time to get cooking!" Another round of applause, and Cats  
immediately broke into his routine.  
  
Somewhere up in the producer's booth, the two bigwigs funding the show smirked  
broadly, then picked up their cell phones and dialed away.  
  
"Move, ad agents."  
  
"For great profit."  
  
  
[---]  
  
With the obligatory bad-joke segment out of the way, we return you to our  
previously-scheduled inanity. Just let me get my notes..  
  
... hrm...  
  
Right. Ready to go.  
  
[---]  
  
"Oh, Trowa..."  
  
"... oh, Quatre..."  
  
"Oh, Trowa!!!"  
  
"... oh, Quatre..."  
  
[---]  
  
AAAAAGH!! Who forgot to edit that out?! Goddamn writers... they *meant* to do  
that to me...  
  
... stop laughing back there! I can hear you! You know I can get *any* of you  
fired!  
  
HMPH. Anyway... there.  
  
[---]  
  
Deep within the bowels of South Town Medical Center's ICU, two twins lay, clad  
in hospital gowns and looking very-much incoherent, doped up to the point where  
colors probably tasted like the sound of the nurse's voice. Regardless, the  
nurses let the thick-chested mafioso-looking guy in. After all, he kept them in  
business with all the people he sent their way.  
  
"Heya, boys. How goes?" CJ took a seat between the two, arms folded.  
  
"We're doin' fiiiiiiiiine, dear ex-employer." Yang smiled dreamily. Yun was just  
trying to catch the pretty words coming from his dear brother's mouth, to no  
avail.  
  
"Heard they gave you boys a skinning. Any ideas where the Hair Scare Gang went?"  
He adjusted his hat and waited patiently for an answer.  
  
"As long as, together, we are..." They, somehow, did the whole foot-to-foot pose  
while in bed, complete with petals and darkened background. "... the Wushu Twins  
of Passion and Justice..." They broke the pose, then resumed hallucinating. "...  
we will tell you that they went to the docks to go dynamite fishing."  
  
"I hope they catch a big fish... I hear they sing real nice..."  
  
The two suddenly started singing. "Take me to the riiiiiiver.... put me in the  
waaaaaaaaaater..." At this point, CJ simply left, lest the song stick in his  
mind and rot away what little sanity he had to spare.  
  
[---]  
  
The Violencemobile screeched out of South Town Medical's parking lot and  
streaked down the road, CJ weaving through traffic. The others inside the Caddy  
didn't seem to mind much, seeing that their boss was actually driving slower  
than usual.  
  
"So, what's the word?" Sharon attended to AK-Chan, idly oiling the gun up as  
they cut an especially sharp corner, swerving past Jae and NEG as they headed  
back home, looking especially flushed and happy.  
  
"The docks. We've got those punks where we want 'em." CJ hit another hard turn,  
crashing through a few crates laden down with Bison Pops ("So good, you'll go  
psycho for more!").  
  
Hugo just grunted something in thick-as-tar German. Fuuma was... still working  
on his crossword puzzle. "What's a seven-letter word for 'testimony'?"  
  
"Shut the fu--" CJ was cut off by a loud BA-KOOM, followed by water and fish-  
chunks spraying all over the car. "... *bingo*."  
  
[---]  
  
Meanwhile, on the way to the office, Jae and his NEG were suddenly passed by CJ  
and company in the Violencemobile. Had it not been for the fact that they were  
exhausted from playing 'Find The Dot', they'd have tried to flag their  
associates down. Instead, they just kept going, cuddling like lovebirds do.  
  
"So... I guess this is all the time we get in this episode." Jae snuggled his  
NEGgie-poo. "Oh well, I probably couldn't be much of a help anyway. They'll be  
fine."  
  
NEG nodded and cuddled her Jae-bear. "Of course they will... besides, we need a  
shower after all that long, hard work." She smiled suggestively at him.  
"Riiiiiiiight?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Whoo." Jae smiled the smile of happiness, mostly due to a random  
grope. "I think I'm going to like this job." With that, the two headed towards  
the sunset any right out of this chapter. Sorry folks, you'll be seeing them  
next time. So nyah.  
  
Anyway...  
  
[---]  
  
... on the subject of lovey-dovey romances and stuff, somewhere on the opposite  
side of Town, in a rather expensive and classy restaurant, Trowa and Quatre were  
enjoying a nice bit of fondue before the main course. Well, Quatre was, anyway.  
Trowa's hair had somehow managed to knock over the candle set in the middle of  
the table, get into the fondue pot, knock a tray out of a server's hands and  
poke the waiter in the eye. Twice. Naturally, he didn't smile, but he had more  
of a non-smile on that he usually did, which meant he was slowly getting cheesed  
off. And on, seeing that melted cheddar was dripping from his pointed 'do.  
  
So, being the good little boy (Mind you, that is debatable, but I don't really  
have the time and/or patience for it at the moment.) that he was, Quatre went to  
somehow salvage Trowa's non-mood. "So, Trowa... we haven't talked in a while.  
How're you feeling?"  
  
"... like I have cheese in my bangs." His reply was pretty flat, even for him.  
  
"Well, Trowa... here." He wiped Trowa's hair clean, earning a friendly non-  
chuckle from his date. "And... one more thing, Trowa."  
  
"Hm?" Trowa casually turned to see if dinner was coming.  
  
Quatre looked out the window at the giant white, red and orange Gundam outside  
in the parking lot. "Why did you bring Heavyarms? You're..." He took a moment to  
count. "Five... six... seven... Octuple-parked."  
  
"... well, it makes for a good make-out spot." He sipped at his water, then non-  
smirked.  
  
Quatre smiled brightly. "Ooooooooooh."  
  
[---]  
  
"Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!"  
  
Only the Hair Scare Gang could derive pleasure out of blowing up poor innocent  
fish up with quarter-sticks. Well, they're not the only ones, but I think the  
sound guy signed a contract to leave his fetishes outside of the workplace. If  
you ask me, that's like sticking firecrackers up cats' butts and lighting 'em...  
only vaguely more painful and nowhere near are fun to wat--I'm going too far  
with this, aren't I? Right.  
  
Anyway, "Oi!"  
  
"Jack, mate, pass me another stick! An' don' drool all ova it this time, eh?"  
Rancid, in all his floppy mohawked glory, held his hand out, in which Jack  
dropped the bright red stick (complete with "DYNAMITE" on the side of it in  
military lettering) into his boss's hand. "Right! Lesse what I can catch with  
this baby!" Rancid let loose a mad cackle, then utilized Video Game Logic to  
scrape his chainsaw along the ground, somehow generating a wave of flame that  
lasted long enough for him to light the stick with. "Pretty *foiah*...  
hehhehheh..." Little did he know that there was a security camera watching the  
events unfold...  
  
[---]  
  
... and somewhere in a large office complex not too far away, a lawsuit was  
being prepared by a very unhappy fire-wielder with a nervous tic. "... did you  
see that? Everyone and their mother... that's it. Class action time!"  
  
"Er, Kyo..." Benimaru, somehow alive but bandaged up to hell and back, held up a  
hand. "There's a LOT of people in South Town with fire-based abilities. Don't  
tell me you're gonna sue 'em all!"  
  
"Damn straight I am! And don't you start about this being about jealousy!" Kyo  
slammed his hands on his computer desk. "Remember who owns Kusanagi Enterprises!  
Remember who built this organization from the ground up! Remember who was there  
ALL THE FUCKING WAY since '94. As far as the world s concerned, Kyo *IS* fire.  
All the others are plagiaristic bastards due for a spanking." He went back to  
furiously typing up his e-mail to his bank of high-money, low-moral attorneys.  
"We start with that Masters punk. He's the worst of--" Kyo's rant was  
interrupted by a rather loud crash.  
  
Thankfully, the damage was minor: just a shattered window and a broken chair.  
Oh, and one seemingly dead Benimaru, crushed by a doctor's examination table.  
Dr. Robotnik's, once Kyo took a closer look. "Dammit, Beni, you *know* blood's  
hard to get out of this carpet... Jesus on a trampoline, why do I even bother  
with you..." With a grumble, he reached for his two-way. "Yuki? Beni's dead  
again. Get the cleanup crew he-"  
  
"... I'm not dead yet." Beni held an arm up shakily. "Hurt real bad, yeah....  
ow, my liver..."  
  
Yuki's voice cut in over the intercom. "Honeybunch, Beni-kun sounds... alive."  
  
"Nope, he's dead," Kyo replied flatly as he walked over to his desk, sending the  
e-mail on its way. As soon as it finished, he casually hefted the monitor up and  
brought it down on Benimaru's skull. "See?" He held the two-way's receiver to  
Beni's pulped form for a few seconds. "Dead as pinball."  
  
"... oh. Right, I'll send them on, Kyo-dear." The comm link cut out, and Kyo  
quickly made his way to the booze cabinet as the Clean-Up Crew (consisting of  
Kyo-367, Kyo-1167 and Kyo-46.7) went about bagging up Beni's corpse.  
  
"... I hate my life."  
  
[---]  
  
"There!"  
  
CJ spun the Violencemobile around and barreled towards the Gang as they watched  
another plume of water and fish-bits fly skyward. "Ladies, gentlemen and stupid  
ninja, it's time to get violent."  
  
After a flawless skid-to-a-stop, the group leapt from the car and struck mighty  
battle poses. As seemed to be the case, rousing battle music piped in from...  
somewhere, getting the punks' attention.  
  
"... oi, Cracker Jack! We meet again." Rancid revved his chainsaw up and scraped  
it along the ground, shooting sparks everywhere. "This time we don't intent on  
going down easy... roight, mates?"  
  
"It's time t' git down 'n' FUNKY!" Duck King busted a groove. As did his  
chicken. Jack just slobbered furiously and licked his finger-blades. Birdie was  
picking his ear with a quarter-stick, but paused long enough to get his chains  
ready and mutter something unintelligible.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, same thing you said last time. Now hold on a second... HUDDLE!" CJ,  
Sharon, Hugo and Fuuma huddled close as CJ drew the game plan in the palm of his  
hand. "Sharon, I want you to go deep, but only take your shots when it looks  
like you won't hit anyone other than Fuuma."  
  
"Right. AK-Chan agrees. Don't you, baby?" Sharon purred and gave her rifle a  
scritchie. Somehow.  
  
"Hugo, go in and do what you do best."  
  
"HNGGRDDFUFNG?"  
  
"Yeah, that too. But keep that to a minimum. We want enough to bring back for  
identification."  
  
"BNNNNHRGS."  
  
"... Fuuma."  
  
The Red Masta Killa perked up. "Sir?"  
  
"You get to be the human shield for me."  
  
"... again?" Fuuma pouted and kicked at the ground a bit.  
  
"YES, again. You are wearing a belt that I can grab onto this time, right?"  
  
"... I don't mind wedgies."  
  
CJ facepalmed. "Christ... alright. That's the plan. On three. One... two...  
three!"  
  
The group replied with a hearty "BREAK!", then turned around. Each one now had a  
Gang member pouncing at them. CJ blinked, or would have, were his eyes visible.  
"... okay, this wasn't in the game plan."  
  
[---]  
  
"So..."  
  
"... so."  
  
Quatre and Trowa watched the moon reflecting off of the bay, the two of them  
sitting on a bench. It had been... quiet since dinner. Quatre had managed to get  
a non-laugh out of Trowa, and was feeling fine. That, and the harem pants he'd  
picked for their night out were really comfortable. He'd have to wear them while  
piloting sometime...  
  
"Well... it's getting late, Trowa." Quatre glanced down at his lap, nervously  
twiddling his thumbs. Trowa didn't look anywhere, save back towards Heavyarms,  
which was no more that a few yards away from them. "... I had a good time."  
  
"I did as well, even though the empty void that is my soul would have me think  
otherwise." Trowa glanced over at his 'date' finally. "... nice pants."  
  
The blond (blonde?) blushed a few shades of red... and soon IT began. You know,  
*IT*. That slow magnet-like attracting phase-thingie that happens before things  
get all hot, heavy and mushy-mushy. Closer... and closer... and closer.... AND  
CLOSER...  
  
"... Trowa... yes... yes..."  
  
The moment, much to the relief of yaoi non-fans, was shattered by the beaten  
body of Duo landing on their laps. That... and cherry-blossom petals. And the  
fact that two asian men wearing nothing more that hospital gowns and very  
unhappy expressions. Normally, a stray fanservice wind would blow by, but now's  
not the time for that, and I think I've made enough people mortally sick of  
pseudo-yaoi luvluv for one episode.  
  
"We are forgiving of many things..."  
  
"... but we do not forgive those who would use our good looks and charisma to  
mislead nubile young women into believing that we are going to just... wantonly  
engage in acts of forbidden debauchery... in public."  
  
"Therefore!" The light darkened enough for the trio to see the two shadowy men  
pose. "I am Yang, the Blazing Heart of Youthful Wisdom!"  
  
"And I am Yun, the Swift Soul of Youthful Courage!" Pose, petals, darkness.  
  
"Together... we are! The Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice! And together we  
shall exact *revenge*!"  
  
Trowa blinked slightly, then glanced over to Trowa. "... are we in trouble?" Mad  
Wushu Skillz applied to Trowa's temple, followed by said depressive flying a  
good yard, quickly answered that question. "... oh."  
  
[---]  
  
The battle waged was one of fierce blows... of spilled blood and torn flesh...  
of pain, suffering and torment...  
  
... if one was Fuuma, that is.  
  
"Not in the crotch! Not in the crotch!" Thankfully *that* chainsaw slash missed  
his tender vittles, parried away by CJ's bat. The barrel-chested thug looked  
quite adept with using Fuuma as a shield, while Fuuma looked quite adept with  
being used as a shield... save for complaining about it. "Hey! This outfit cost  
me a fortune!"  
  
Meanwhile, Sharon and Hugo were having no trouble with the other three, Jack and  
Birdie falling prey to Hugo's painful-looking HNGGRDDFUFNG-ing and left to try  
and unknot themselves from each other. Sharon had simply given Duck King a good,  
swift knee to the goodie bag, dropping him like a 50$-a-day crack habit.  
  
Still, there was one small problem.  
  
Duck King's chick.  
  
Sharon had apparently forgotten the beast's power, seeing that she was now one  
with the nearby aluminum siding, and probably wasn't going to get free without  
serious aid, leaving Hugo with the task of trying to HNGGRDDFUFNG the downy  
demon without doing any serious bodily harm to himself.  
  
All the while, Rancid was doing battle with CJ, and not having the best of luck.  
Like it or not, the thug was stronger and faster than he was, and it was  
starting to show. Desperately, he looked around for something, *anything* to  
turn the tide...  
  
"... my poor, poor fishy friends..." Off in the bay, Rikuo busied himself with  
comforting his charges, nursing their injuries as best as he could. But what  
wasn't what made Rancid smile. And no, it wasn't someone groping him.  
  
The fish-dude had a mohawk. Okay, it was a big fin, but it was close enough...  
  
As CJ swung, he pushed the blow away, dropped his chainsaw, and dug a bottle out  
of his pants. Quickly unscrewing the top, he tossed the bottle's contents down  
at the merman and watched gleefully as the gillman started twitching oddly. CJ,  
ready to smash Rancid's brains in, paused mid-smash, then read the bottle's  
label.  
  
"... Psycho-Power Brand Super Ultra Mohawk-Gro..."  
  
Rancid cackled and screamed to the heavens, "Make 'is mohawk GROOOOOOOOOOOOOW!"  
  
CJ then glanced down at Rikuo.  
  
No, scratch that.  
  
CJ glanced *up* at Rikuo.  
  
And up. And up. And up. And up.  
  
"... holy hell."  
  
[---]  
  
  
Imagine, if you will, the infinite reaches of time and space. No bottom, no top,  
no sides. Just... eternity. Now imagine one blonde-haired man in a tight black  
cutoff and white khakis floating in it. Imagine this man slowly coming to...  
just as he hears a still, small voice...  
  
"Benimaru..."  
  
"Y-yes?" Benimaru tried to look himself over, only to find out that he could not  
move. "Where... where am I?"  
  
"I am the Infinite Will of the Multiverse, spawned from the hopes and dreams of  
countless billions from other realities... and I... have a Mission for you." The  
voice... was familiar, but the ethereal sound to it threw Beni off.  
  
"... mission? What mission? And who are you?"  
  
"I am the One who has brought you back after your unfortunate demises... I am  
the One Whose Technique Is Peerless and Absolute... you could go so far as to  
call Me your new God... but I have a Name... a Name no man can hear from My  
Voice. But I can tell you what your Mission will be..." The voice chuckled. This  
made Benimaru swallow. "As long as your Mission is undone, you cannot die...  
consider that My Gift to you."  
  
Benimaru was somewhat freaked now, and it showed. "Just tell me what this  
mission is and I'll do it! Just let me go back to South Town!"  
  
A pregnant pause, then... "Very well. Your Mission... is one that I will  
constantly guide you on. It is simple... all you must do... is spread My  
Words... My Style... My Teachings... My..."  
  
Without warning, a god-sized man, wearing a god-sized pink gi while furiously  
shaking an upheld, god-sized arm, let loose a cry that came seemingly from every  
conceivable place in Infinity, rattling Benimaru to the very core of his being  
and woogifying his weak, pitiful mortal body.  
  
"... SAIKYO-RYUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!" Soon, the universe stopped shaking,  
Benimaru's body was no longer jellified, and the Infinite Will of Saikyo-Ryu  
stared down at the shootfighter's microscopic body. "... well... have you  
anything to say, mortal man?"  
  
Benimaru swallowed. He then swallowed again, body shaking visibly and sweat  
pouring down his brow. Finally, he inhaled deeply, and made his immediate  
feelings known.  
  
"NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"  
  
[---]  
  
For a moment... every sentient being in South Town paused, shuddered, then  
resumed whatever it was they were doing.  
  
[---]  
  
"RRRRRRRRAR! Oi! OI!" Kaiju Rikuo rose from the water and immediately went about  
doing what giant beasts with mohawks do: turning the dock area into one's own  
personal moshpit. The riveting, heavy-metal battle music was only encouraging  
the thing, on top of that. Meanwhile, the people still conscious on the ground  
watched, either afraid, awestruck or both.  
  
Rancid, ever the opportunist, took the moment to collect his gang and drag them  
along to the getaway hummer. Juuuuuust as he was about to bail, he stopped. "The  
chicken."  
  
Said chicken was busy dueling with Hugo, effortlessly dodging every lamppost-  
swing the lump of muscle sent its way while trying to peck his eyes out. Neither  
one was going anywhere, so Rancid decided to just break up the fight. "Oi!  
Chickie! Time to split!" The chick peeped brightly, then hopped away from Hugo's  
face and scrambled towards the spot with the steadily-widening shadow...  
  
"... aw, shite, CHICKIE!"  
  
As mighty of a Chick of Certain Death that it was, it had no way of handling a  
60-foot merman stepping on it. So, as do all cute things, it went SPLAT. A cute  
and cuddly SPLAT, but a SPLAT nonetheless. Rancid just muttered something and  
hopped into the hummer and sped away. "Next time, CJ! Next time!"  
  
As Rancid flipped him off a few times before rounding the corner, CJ grunted and  
walked over to Sharon, presently occupied with moaning incoherently and bleeding  
freely. Having one's body embedded into metal, even something as flimsy as  
aluminum, had a tendency of hurting.  
  
"... ow, we're gonna need some welding equipment for you... Hugo's fine... come  
on, Fuuma. We don't do giant fish monsters." He waited for the inevitable stupid  
reply, but didn't get it. God forbid Fuuma actually kept his damn mouth shut  
when the opportunity to say something inane came up. "Fuuma, we're leaving..."  
  
Again, nothing. This time, he was worried. Odd, he didn't remember seeing Fuuma  
after the whole Mohawk-Gro bit... and he suddenly noted that the large Gundam  
not too far off was powering up. He felt a pit form in his stomach. No Fuuma +  
large mecha powering up = stupid Fuuma in large mecha powering up.  
  
No one, he thought, not even Fuuma's that terminally stupid.  
  
The mecha... struck a very recognizable Ninja Pose.  
  
Good Lord, he *is*, he counter-thought, and immeidatly ran towards the mecha.  
"FUUMA!!!"  
  
[---]  
  
Well, the pilot was on the ground with a huge bruise on his temple, as did his  
friend in the dark clothes. The guy one that he wasn't sure was a boy or girl  
was actually sharing cooking tips with Yun and Yang, who were in those flimsy  
hospital grounds... and the big-ass mecha was alone.  
  
Giant mecha. Giant fish. Giant mecha with GUNS. Giant fish with NO GUNS.  
  
That logic being followed, Fuuma put 2 and 2 together. When he got 17, he paused  
and tried it again. It took six tries, but finally... "Four!" With that, he  
leapt up the mecha, in search of the cockpit.  
  
"Heeeeeere cockpit, cockpit, cockpit... heh heh heh, I said *cock*." After some  
scouring, he found the "Heh heh heh..." cockpit and slipped in, buckling up for  
safety and flipping any toggle that looked vaguely like an ON switch.  
  
Naturally, dumb ninja luck came through, and the massive thing revved to life,  
displays coming up. Grabbing the joysticks and placing his feet on the Gundam's  
pedals, Fuuma concentrated, feeling ancient teachings from the Fuuma masters of  
yore flowing through him...  
  
'... hey, Kougan, check this one!' 'FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!' 'Ew! What did you eat  
last night, man?!'  
  
... and suddenly knew how to unleash the fatal Silent But Deadly Ninja  
Flatulence. While that wasn't what he was aiming for, it was cool enough for  
him. "Right! Onward, ninja warrior! Let's show them how useful the Fuuma clan  
really is!"  
  
[---]  
  
"... so, I tried using basil instead, and it gave the chicken such a wonderful  
flavor! I'll have to write down the recipe for you both!" Quatre beamed at The  
Wushu Twins of Long Title. Not only were they masterful fighters, but they knew  
a few tricks in the kitchen. And the one that looked vaguely like dear Trowa was  
cute, too.  
  
"We shall have to try that. What say you, dear brother?" Yang turned to face  
Yun, who was staring past Quatre. "Dear brother?"  
  
"Dear young man in harem pants, is that your giant robot?" Yun just pointed back  
and up.  
  
"Er, no. It's Trowa's. I think he's coming to now. We're so sorry about all this  
confu--" Trowa turned around to see Heavyarms strike a vaguely ninja-like pose,  
then stomp towards the equally large fishman with the mohawk-fin that was  
busting up the rest of the docks area. "... oh my. I don't think Trowa's going  
to be happy..."  
  
[---]  
  
CJ ran. And ran. And ran and ran and RAN. By the time he reached the field of  
battle, Fuuma was reciting, through Heavyarms' loudspeaker, the various  
illustrious heroes of his clan, his full intention to give the fish-punk the  
ballistic equivalent of Rough Prison Sex should he not cease his assault, and a  
pre-battle question as to what an 8-letter word for "distraught" may be.  
  
All Kaiju Rikuo did was stare, roar, then charge Heavyarms. CJ could *hear*  
Fumma's immediate reaction, but he couldn't see it, thanks mostly to a massive  
chuck of merman skin smacking him in the face (and clear off his feet) as  
Heavyarms let loose the lead at near-point-blank range, creating a twisted aria  
of roars, various versions of 'splat' and Fuuma's power-mad cackle as he put  
more lead into Rikuo that he's put into himself eating paint chips in his youth.  
  
Well, *almost* as much lead, anyway.  
  
"I am the god! I AM THE GOD! AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Soon, the torrent  
of fiery soft-metal death stopped, leaving behind the smoking bottom half of  
Kaiju Rikuo, a small cloud of gunbarrel smoke and enough gore to, y'know, make  
for a lot of gore. CJ, having been in close proximity, wasn't spared at all.  
"Who's the man! Who's the man! Who's the ma--"  
  
There are precious few things that Cracker Jack truly hated. One was stupidity.  
Another one was screwing up on the job. The biggest one, however, was people  
getting his outfit messed up. He didn't feel like wasting a super level that  
day, but anger wasn't taking no for an answer today.  
  
"UPPAAAAAAA!" One dash and ham-fisted hyper-uppercut later, Heavyarms landed a  
good fifty meters away, right into the bay, with a resounding splash. CJ noted  
that he felt much better, turned, and walked towards the chunk-splattered  
Violencemobile. Hugo had already loaded Sharon (and the sheet metal she was  
stuck in) into the back. 'At least someone's competent in this damn  
organization,' he mused, hopping into the Caddy and revving 'er up.  
  
"Um, boss... this is kinda uncomfortable... and I think I might've ruptured  
something..." Sharon squirmed in the sheet metal and coughed up more blood.  
"Think you can get me out?"  
  
"Sure, Sharon," he quickly replied. "I left my work bat back at the office.  
We'll handle things there." Ignoring Sharon's fearful yelp, he punched down the  
pedal, the 'mobile shooting Rikuo chunks everywhere before finally speeding down  
the docks, only pausing to stop in front of Fuuma, soaked to the skin and trying  
to haul himself up, and drive off hurriedly ("You get to walk home, assclown."),  
a random fish bit whapping him dead in his gasping mouth.  
  
Fuuma paused. Fuuma bit. Fuuma chewed. Fuuma swallowed. Fuuma paused again.  
Fuuma bit and chewed again. Fuuma paused yet again. Fuuma swallowed yet again.  
  
"... needs less blood." Fuuma spat the chunk out and finally climbed all the way  
up, using the last of his Ninja Stamina to make it. He had to admit, he'd  
forgotten that CJ could do that, and made a quick mental note to invest in a  
super meter, just in case he was in a situation where a number of angry people  
covered in merman gore were staring down at him with near-murderous intent,  
ready to stomp on his repeatedly in various sensitive places.  
  
Like right now. "Er... sorry? Eh-heh..." He offered them his best smile.  
  
Duo, Quatre, Trowa and the Wushu Twins refused it, wasting no time in stomping a  
mudhole in Fuuma and walking it dry many, many times.  
  
And all was right with the world... or was it?  
  
[---]  
  
He awoke with a headache. And memories of what he had seen and heard. "... no.  
It was just a dream. That didn't happen... it's all a--" He then noticed that he  
was in a dojo of sorts, divided from the main training area, and five figures,  
by a thin rice-paper screen.  
  
"Recite! The Teeeeeeeeen! Commandments ooooooooof... Danimism!" The lead voice  
had a noticably Russian accent to it.  
  
A group "Doushita!", then...  
  
"Thou shalt have no other gods (especially shotokans and their ilk) before Me!"  
The second voice was female, raspy and rather deep.  
  
"Thou shalt not say the Name of the Hibiki thy God in vain, lest thou be using  
His name in a creative and effective Taunt!" A pair of voices this time, high-  
pitched and cutesy ones.  
  
"REMEMBER THE FIRST TAUNT AND PERFORM IT OFTEN!" This voice was young, somewhat  
androgynous, and really fuckin' loud.  
  
"Honor thy fellow Taunter!" First voice.  
  
"Thou shalt not kill. Taunting is more fun and rewarding anyway!" Second voice.  
  
"Thou shalt not commit spiritual adultery by conversing with shotokans and  
their ilk!" Third pair of voices.  
  
"THOU SHALT NOT PASS UP THE CHANCE TO TAUNT THY OPPONENT, OR ANY OTHER PAGAN,  
MERCILESSLY!" Fourth voice. You probably notice the pattern by now.  
  
"Thou shalt not let thine Taunts grow stale, and must focus and meditate to  
discover newer, more pagan-distressing Taunts! Props, while not required, are  
encouraged!"  
  
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's Taunts, especially if they be not a Child  
of Hibiki, for their Taunts suck and you could do better!"  
  
A deep group inhale, then... "THE TAUNT IS ALL!" A final "Doushita!", then the  
group relaxed, the rotund Russian clapping his hands.  
  
"We will train here until the Chosen One, the Rolling Pink Thunder of Saikyo-  
Ryu, arrives and sets the End Times into motion! Until that blessed, special  
day... we must remain ever-vigilant that we never miss the Chosen One..."  
  
"OH! YOU MEAN THE GUY TRYING TO TIPTOE AWAY OVER THERE?!"  
  
Benimaru hissed and stopped mid-tiptoe. Caught. "Damn!" He opened his eyes and  
beheld his captors... Karnov... Bub and Bob... Dig Dug and Strength-Chan... the  
whole lot of 'em staring at him with something akin to awe and reverence.  
  
"... Benimaru... you... are the Chosen One?" Karnov, in a flawlessly pink  
Saikyo-Ryu gi stood forward purposefully. "I, the Blazing Pink Inferno of  
Saikyo-Ryu would've never thought the Lord would've chosen someone so... so..."  
  
Beni fumed and his hair flattened. "Contrary to popular belief, I am *not gay*."  
  
"Doesn't matter, really." Dig Dug, it seems, was the owner of the raspy female  
smoker's voice, busy fixing her Giant Monster-Popping Pump of Saikyo-Ryu.  
"Welcome to the fold, hon. I'm Dig Dug, the Blasting Pink Wind of Saikyo-Ryu."  
She dug out a cigar and lit up.  
  
Beni paused. "Er... I thought you were male..."  
  
"Everyone thinks that at first!" The twin mini-dino-thingies piped in, also clad  
in cute-sized pink gis as well. "We're Bub and Bob, the Rushing Pink Bubbles of  
Saikyo-Ryu! Nice to meet you, Chosen One!" They poinged in unison.  
  
"I AM STRENGTH-CHAN, THE CRUSHING PINK AVALANCE OF SAIKYO-RYU!" The seemingly-  
genderless kid with the infinity symbol on his/her/whatever undershirt  
demonstrated its title by producing a normal rock and a can of pink spraypaint.  
"LION-KUN WOULD BE HERE, BUT HE GOT GAS FROM EATING A PAGAN!"  
  
Beni paused. It... it simply wasn't possible. It HAD to be a dream. "But... b-  
but... this can't *BE*... I'm dead! This can't be South Town!"  
  
"Indeed it is, my tasty friend! We are in South Town, and this..." The group  
stood aside to reveal a giant wall scroll depicting... a god-sized man in a god-  
sized pink gi taunting at a tiny-sized man with stand-on-end blond hair. "is the  
Temple of The Peerless Master of the Taunt... the center of Danimism. And you  
*are* the Rolling Pink Thunder of Saikyo-Ryu!"  
  
Benimaru shook his head again and again. He wanted to believe it was all a  
dream, just a result of Kyo almost-killing him. Yeah, a coma-induced  
nightmare... a mirror.  
  
He was wearing a pink gi. His hair was slicked back and in a ponytail. There was  
an image of Dan behind him, all smiles. He moved a cue card into view that read  
"This ain't no dream." Backwards, naturally.  
  
"NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"  
  
[---] 


End file.
